Exquisite Horrors of Reality
by Kittiko-Blues
Summary: He was their friend, and they could not let him down. But secretly, they wanted to run away from him, far away from the evil that had been bestowed upon him and, inevitably, upon themselves.
1. Henderson

_**I'm suffering from a seriously annoying back injury right now, but I REFUSE to spend all day laying in bed. So I figured, what the hell, I'll write about the Americans some more.**_

_**Three-part fic (because I refuse to post all this in one chapter) centering on Burns's incapacitation as seen from the points of view of all three Americans. My excuse for exploring their feelings on their situation a little more. :P**_

_**Title is taken from a quote by Edgar Allan Poe**_

_**Daniels, Burns, Henderson/The Mummy: (c) Stephen Sommers**_

**Exquisite Horrors of Reality**

**Part 1 - Henderson**

"There ain't no helpin' him, at least not here. I don't trust any of these damn doctors, not a one. Hardly speak a lick a' English, probably can't tell a scapula from a scalpel. No, he needs to see an _American_ doctor."

He pinched the bridge of his nose exasperatedly, felt the start of a headache. "I agree with you, Daniels, but I don't see how waitin' 'til we get back home is gonna heal him any faster."

Daniels huffed, spun around on his heel and began to pace. "Well what else can we do? This God-fersaken place ain't got shit in the way a' proper medical care! Good thing it ain't a damn snake bite ailin' Burns. I'd hate to think which spot they'd choose to suck the venom outta."

Henderson cringed, didn't appreciate the graphic visual flashing in his mind. Not to mention he was sick of Daniels's neurotic resistance when it came to trusting physicians of any kind. "You're real lucky that Goddamn arm of yours is still intact. At least he ain't complainin' about his misery. Not that he can, since his damn tongue is gone." Then he narrowed a resentful scowl on his dark-haired friend. "Boy, I can only imagine if _you_ were the tongueless one. You'd still find a way to cause a Goddamn racket!"

Daniels whipped his head around, matching Henderson's glare with his own. "This ain't about me, alright?" he snarled, rubbing absentmindedly at his wounded appendage.

"You're damn right it ain't," Henderson snorted, crossing his arms. "All arguin' aside, we really gotta get 'im home, right quick we do." His voice suddenly dropped, his eyes staring blankly ahead. "That's all we _can_ do for him anyway."

He heard Daniels mumble something in agreement, his erratic pacing ceasing for the moment. Henderson was thoroughly shaken by what had happened to Burns, still very much wired with overwhelming anxiety and gnawing fear. The horrific state of being Burns was in came courtesy of a living, walking corpse, something that rose up from the very depths of Hell itself, taking the man's tongue and eyes as some kind of gruesome prize. All that talk of a curse, the stupid superstitions that ran rampant about Hamunaptra and its bloody history: they were all true.

Like his friend Daniels, Henderson had never been much of a believer in anything unless there was tangible proof of it. He thought about this as he sat inside the stuffy hotel room, trying to make sense of the events that were transpiring before his eyes. What _could_ they do? Although they managed to get booked on a ship bound for the coast, it would not be departing until the next day.

Henderson knew that their incapacitated friend might not have one more day.

It frustrated him, knowing there was absolutely _nothing_ he or Daniels could do to make the pain Burns was feeling any easier to bear. He knew basic first aid and quite a few outdoor survival techniques, but that was the extent of his medical knowledge. Nothing could prepare him for the raw horror he felt when he laid eyes (for lack of a better expression) on his injured partner.

He wouldn't say it to Burns of course, but he was genuinely frightened by the man's condition, and not just its physical consequences. Burns was a marked man. He was all the proof they needed in knowing that the hex on the chest was far from a bunch of fancy words strung together to get a scare out of some poor fools who believed in such nonsense. Henderson shuddered to think that he very soon could end up like Burns, the next victim of this dreaded curse.

He ran his hand through his hair, tangled and soaked in sweat, and tried clearing his head. The last thing he wanted to do was make himself crazy, much like what Daniels was doing at the moment. He stood up, hands in his pockets and his vision concentrated on the floor. _Well, what _do_ we do in the meantime? Is that...that Goddamn _thing_ waitin' fer us out there? Are we as good as dead once we set one damn boot outside this compound?_ He shook his head hopelessly. _Lord Jesus, what do we do?_

He fought the urge to pace, knew that imitating Daniels's maddening habits would only speed up the mental breakdown he feared having. Instead, he coolly reached into his pocket, extricated the tin of tobacco chews he never went anywhere without, took out a sizable piece of the stuff and shoved it into his mouth. He let the smoky taste of it soothe him, felt his scattered wits collecting once more. He brought his head up, saw that his restless friend had started pacing again. _There ain't no way in Hell I'm dealin' with this hysterical shit_.

"Jesus, Daniels, give it a Goddamn rest, will ya?"


	2. Daniels

_**Title is taken from a quote by Edgar Allan Poe**_

_**Daniels, Burns, Henderson/The Mummy: (c) Stephen Sommers**_

**Exquisite Horrors of Reality**

**Part 2 - Daniels**

He turned his head sharply in Henderson's direction, saw the look of agitation the man was wearing. Daniels snorted gruffly, crossed his arms. "Don't tell me to give it a rest! I done had it tryin' to figger out where to go from here. He ain't gettin' the help he needs here, an' that damn ship ain't goin' anywheres soon. So what's your plan now, Henderson? Ya got any better ones aside from waitin' fer our own executions inside this Goddamn fort?"

Henderson looked ready to grab the man's throat, but he kept himself reined in. It almost disturbed Daniels how calm he was. "I don't know, Daniels. I'm outta ideas. But please, by all means, if ya got any suggestions, I'm happy to hear 'em!"

"Yeah, yeah." Daniels gritted his teeth, searched the room for a chair to sit in. He sat down heavily when he found one, swallowing as much air as he could to steady himself. He knew very well that Henderson was right, that he needed to take it easy before his mind completely detached itself from reality. But he couldn't help himself: he was worried sick over Burns.

"I'm at a loss at what to do fer him. It's frustratin', alright?"

"Ya don't need to tell me that twice, Daniels."

Daniels ran his hand down his face, couldn't keep any part of himself still. The jitters that snuck into his body were fighting him for control over it. "Goddamnit, Henderson. I don't know what to do..."

Although they essentially operated as a trio in everything they did, Daniels had always been closer with Burns than with Henderson on a personal level. Burns was one of very few people who could successfully diffuse Daniels's hair-trigger temper, and keep it from reigniting. Like a salve on a burning lesion, Burns's calm demeanor cooled down Daniels's simmering emotions before they could pop any veins. Burns was the listening type, took things more seriously than Henderson, and Daniels was grateful that Burns had no problem hearing what he had to say, no matter how crass or egomaniacal it sounded.

There would be no placating words coming from Burns now. In fact, he could hardly form words at all. Burns's downgrade from healthy adult to helpless invalid was more than just an unwelcome shock. The eyeless sockets, bleeding mouth and ethereal moans of pain haunted Daniels, and he knew he would carry the pitiful sight of his marred friend to his grave. _How did we not see this shit comin'?_ It had to be the curse on the chest that Dr. Chamberlin issued his dire warning about. In his heart, Daniels did not want to believe that, but he could fathom no other explanation for this absolutely freakish cataclysm of nature.

However, he would not let his jarring disbelief and hidden repulsion at Burns's condition keep him from looking after him. Daniels had volunteered to clean and bandage up Burns's empty orbitals to the best of his ability, and he also allowed Burns to ride with him on the journey back to Cairo when it became too difficult for him to stay up straight in his own saddle. Daniels considered it a fair trade-off for the ailing man, who had spent so much time putting up with Daniels and his boorish mouth. As mentally numb as he was from all the bizarre shit that was happening, Burns's well-being was first in his mind.

He became antsy in the chair, jumped up suddenly as if beset by a painful spasm. For all the anger he had at what happened to Burns, there was more than enough panic and terror to accompany it. It was the biggest test of his bravery yet, no more showing off and acting like he was part of Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show. Channeling the likes of Doc Holliday or William Quantrill or Crazy Horse would not be enough.

This was the real, undead deal.

His worrying mind got the better of him, and he headed towards the door. "C'mon, let's go check in on 'im."


	3. Burns

_**Title is taken from a quote by Edgar Allan Poe**_

_**Daniels, Burns, Henderson/The Mummy: (c) Stephen Sommers**_

**Exquisite Horrors of Reality**

**Part 3 - Burns**

The darkness consumed him, draped like a black shroud over his senses and smothering his reflexes. Not even the shadows he once used to guide himself with were anywhere to be found; the nightmare of being permanently blind was complete. Every little movement, every sound tied his stomach in knots, made the tremors in his hands uncontrollable.

Like a bird with its wings clipped, Burns was utterly helpless.

The last few days had been hard, quite the understatement to someone in Burns's position. He sat stiffly in his chair, its pseudo-leather padding not exactly comfortable. He felt hopelessly chained to it, like Prometheus on the cliff face, waiting every day for that dreaded eagle to come back and peck out his liver once more. In paralyzing silence he waited, terrified of that thing coming back to pick something else off him. He held a handkerchief to his mouth, absorbing the constant leak of salivation that crept from its corners; having no tongue had left him prone to drooling. The bandage over his eyeless sockets was tied behind his head snugly enough that he rarely needed to adjust it. He had become almost catatonic sitting in taciturnity in the hotel room, the only stimuli he responded to being noise of any kind, including sounds barely detectable to the average human ear. _Guess the ole saying is right: when one sense goes, another gets stronger. Or in my case, two,_ he thought somewhat bitterly. The ticking drone of a clock on the wall was grating dreadfully on his heightened hearing.

_Well, at least _they're_ nearby. _He had been inundated with support from his two friends, something he wished he could express his gratitude for with more than just a garbled attempt at a 'thank you'. The blissfully ignorant tone that Henderson was known for had practically ceased to exist, replaced by alarmist overkill that annoyed Burns more than it worried him. He appreciated the fuss Henderson made over him, but Burns preferred _not_ being constantly bombarded with the phrase 'How're ya feelin'?' every three minutes. Daniels was not known for being much of a softie in any regard (he saved that almost exclusively for his girl, Gracie), but Burns knew the man to have a good heart. Very rarely did Daniels break from his hard-as-nails character to show his more caring side. Burns's horrific condition happened to be one of those instances.

Indeed, Burns felt a debt to them that he feared he might never be able to fully repay.

The ventilation in the room was considerably poor, and Burns found himself warming very quickly. The fabric of his dark, nightclothes-like ensemble was blessedly light though, keeping the edge off the rising heat. But Burns's mind was not on the temperature. Thoughts of home, living like an invalid, not being able to utilize his senses of sight and taste ever again were drowning his overwhelmed mind in a pool of self-pity. What kind of life could he lead now? What woman would want him? How could anyone accept him with his grotesque handicaps? _That thing should've just put me outta my misery and finished me off._ He sighed, depression settling over him, sunk into his seat. Maybe he was just better off dead.

He sat up suddenly when he heard the doorknob turn, the soft tread of boots entering the room. "It's alright, it's jus' us." Daniels's voice, quiet and reassuring. Burns breathed a mental sigh of relief.

He could hear them walking towards him, Daniels standing close by while Henderson sat on the small table in front of Burns's chair. "Ya feelin' alright?" his blonde friend asked.

If Burns still had his eyes, he would've rolled them. He gave Henderson a passive nod, took the handkerchief from his mouth and answered, "Yesh, I'm fine."

Henderson nodded, heaved a shaky breath. "Well, um, Daniels and I were lookin' at gettin' a boat outta here. Damn thing ain't leavin' until tomorrow though. Think ya can hold out for one more day?" He forced a weak chuckle from his mouth.

Burns could sense the fear through Henderson's half-hearted attempts at a bit of light humor, not convinced by it in the least. He turned his head slightly, little sounds finding his auditory nerve again: the wretched ticking of the clock, Henderson's soft inhalations, the hovering whine of a mosquito on the ceiling. Daniels's close proximity to him was even allowing Burns to pick up the heavy pounding of his friend's heart, mingling with his own as it hammered away inside him. His hands went to his ears, trying to block out the madness infiltrating them. "I hope sho."

"'Til then, guess we're jus' gonna have to hunker down here," Henderson sighed, standing up and fishing into his pocket for another tobacco chew.

"I would've preferred the Hotel Monteleone," Daniels grunted unenthusiastically. Any humor that might've been in his observation immediately dissolved into the saturnine atmosphere that enveloped the room.

Burns tried to show some form of reaction for Daniels's sake, but he just didn't have the energy or spirit. He remained inattentive when a discreet conversation started between his two companions, his thoughts once again turning towards life back in the States. _Please Lord, take it easy on me. I dunno what I did to deserve this, but I'll never question Your ways again if you jus' let me live as normal a life as possible._ He let his shoulders sag, brought the handkerchief to his mouth again.

There was a slight uptick in volume, what sounded like some quiet quarreling between Daniels and Henderson. Then the talking stopped, and Burns lifted his head slowly, looking in Daniels's direction as he spoke. "It alright if we leave ya here for a few extra minutes?"

Burns sat up a little straighter, struggled with his words. "Where are you going?"

"We're gonna go get a drink. I'm itchin' real bad fer some whiskey. You want us to bring you anythin'?" Daniels placed his hand on his shoulder lightly, and Burns thought to himself with a touch of amusement, _Predictable._

"No, thansh," he answered.

Daniels nodded, stepped away from him as Henderson said, "Alright then, let's go."

Henderson was first out the door, Daniels right behind him, but Burns perked up when he heard his voice again. "Ya sure you don't want anythin'? A lil' hard water might do you some good."

Again Burns declined. "Alright, jus' makin' sure," Daniels said, making to leave.

Burns suddenly felt a heightened urgency, not completely ready to be alone again. "Dave..."

Daniels stopped, said quietly, "Yeah?"

There was a pause, Burns struggling to form words through his speech impediment. "Pleash be quick."

Burns heard the tone of camaraderie in Daniels's voice, wished he could see what kind of expression might be on his friend's face. "No problem, Bernie." A moment later, he was gone.

And the silence came back. _Please, _please_ be quick_.

There was some commotion outside, perhaps some of the British guards scuffling with a few rowdy locals. It was something to focus on at least, keep his mind off the anxiety. He thought about getting up, try to practice moving around with the help of the objects around him. He would have to at some point if he ever wanted to walk again. He braced himself on the chair, made sure his feet were planted firmly on the floor. He took a deep breath, straightened his back...

Then there came a knock on the door.

Startled, Burns practically fell back into his seat, landing with a hard thump like a rock on pavement. "Yesh?" he said, his voice an octave higher than normal.

Something was dragging on the floor, like a cape or long coat, as whoever entreated entrance came in. He heard the click of the door as it closed, the shift of furniture as his newest guests took a seat. Burns felt his hackles rising quickly. "Whosh there?"

"My apologies for intruding on your solitude, Mr. Burns, but I have stumbled upon someone who sympathizes with your plight and wishes to make an offer to you." He recognized that weasel-like whine of a voice anywhere: it was their AWOL guide, Beni. Not exactly the person he was expecting a visit from, nor did he wish to entertain his company.

But apparently Beni informed _somebody_ of his condition. Who, he didn't know, and it made Burns nervous. "Oh?"

Beni continued, his voice uncharacteristically level. "He wishes to purchase the canopic jar you have brought back from Hamunaptra. It would be money enough for you to get the medical care you need upon your return to America."

Burns sat up a little more, felt the suspicions twisting in his gut. _It must be too good to be true!_ But at the same time, he felt a wave of immense relief washing over him, and he did not want to appear ungrateful to this kind stranger. "What ish hish name?"

"Prince Imhotep."

**End**


End file.
